“I didn’t mean–”
“Fanta discovered more about K-W’s business in Islington. It’s a Wine Bar now. But she found an archived website with some of the bric-a-crap he was selling. Artwork, furniture, a few antique odds and ends.” She had sent the weblink from the Wayback Machine, an online archive that attempted to capture the history of the internet by making snapshots of the ever-changing websites. They reach her car and as she unplugged it, he held up his phone so she could see. “It seems the people of Islington had more taste than he did. He barely sold anything. But amongst the junk is something interesting. He sold antique firearms.”
By law, old weapons had to be made safe before they could be sold on to the public. The modern methods employed rendered the weapons so useless that it would be easier building a gun from scratch than repairing it. However, the Colt had been deactivated before the laws were tightened. Deactivation was achieved by drilling out the barrel and blocking it with a pin. It took a lot of effort to reactivate it, but it had the advantage of making the weapon almost untraceable.
He held the screen closer so Chib could see the image he had selected. It was a familiar-looking Colt pistol.
“Oh, wow. Could it be the same one?”
“They’re trying to find that out. But what are the odds? What forensics can confirm is that the Colt we found had been deactivated around the same time. I’m betting it was the same weapon.”
“So the odds mean Oscar Benjamin and Mark knew one another.”
“Fraser and Rebecca connect them. They moved in the same circles, so it would be improbable that they’d never met. What if Mark was so desperate to pay off his debts when he was offered money for some untraceable weapons that he may have lying around?”
They leaned on the Nissan’s roof as they rallied the possibilities back and forth.
Chib nodded, seeing a plethora of connections opening. “If Rebecca knew what Oscar was planning, then it makes sense she would go to Mark if she was desperate to find him. She had no interest in finding out who Hoy is. That’s just a smoke screen.”
Garrick held up a cautionary finger. “Perhaps that was the case, but this whole Hoy fever has whipped up from nowhere. Prior to the body in Fraser’s living room, the world didn’t care.”
Chib ruminated on that. They opened the car doors and sat inside. The display panels silently came to life, and Chib set the satnav for the police station.
“Did you see what was on her laptop screen?” he asked.
“No. She was rather keen to close it.”
“It was a passport application.”
Chib was surprised. “That’s what she means by wanting to leave.”
“And,” he jerked a thumb at himself, “this old Detective Rex may have figured out the question everybody is asking?” He flicked through the images on his phone and showed it to Chib.
“Why are you showing me a naff bathroom? If you’re asking me to help with your DIY…”
“It’s not my bathroom. It’s Terri’s. Look.”
She stared and zoomed in on the damp towel draped across the radiator. Then she gasped. It was stained with multicoloured paint that had faded when it was washed and left to dry.
Garrick couldn’t stop smiling. “How much does it change things if we have uncovered the identity of our phantom artist?”
23
“We have to release Rebecca Ellis tomorrow morning,” Drury growled over the phone. “And by the afternoon, I imagine she’ll be holding a press conference to turn this entire investigation against us.”
“Maybe it would be better if we release her now, ma’am,” said Chib into her car’s hands-free.
Drury was in a tetchy mood. Garrick had learned to deal with it over the years, so he winced when Chib spoke up. She still had a lot to learn.
“How the hell does that help?” snapped Drury.
“She could lead us to Oscar Benjamin.”
“If that was the case, she would have done that already. I’ve seen her type before. If you pepper the lies with enough truth, it becomes almost impossible to tell which is which. I don’t trust her. As soon as she’s out, she’ll be on a flight home, and my money is Benjamin is already out of the country.”
Garrick had been mulling over similar thoughts. These days, dealing with European police forces was more cumbersome that it had been, but that was down to paperwork. The flesh and blood officers at both ends were still keen to help one another. Still, it would protract the case.
He finished the call as quickly as he could. Chib looked sullen. “Don’t let her get under your skin. She’s a dragon. But there are plenty of times it’s handy to have a dragon watching your back.”
“She hates my ideas.”
“She’s probably peeved that she didn’t think of them herself. You know better than me what it’s like being a woman on the force. Let’s face it, she didn’t get there by being a team player. She got there through sheer bloody-mindedness. I’m under no illusion that this is the height of my career, no matter how bloody-minded I am.”
I’m probably past that, he thought miserably. Leaving Camden riding high and feeling they had made some important links, his mood had crashed back to earth when he listened to a voicemail from Dr Rajasekar, confirming that a slot for his next MRI scan was available straight away. He deleted the message and felt nervous at the prospect, remembering his therapist’s comment that ignorance is bliss. When had she said? Tomorrow? He made a quick note on his calendar. The message had made him feel drained. Drury’s rant had merely stripped the icing from his cake.
They headed back down the M20 towards headquarters, but Garrick was desperate to avoid going back. He felt there was more to achieve out here. He considered paying
